


Sincerely, Michael

by adobe_beforeffects



Series: Dear Father [3]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Body Horror, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, One Shot, canonical suicide, lots and lots of body horror but it's a fic about Michael what did you expect, this is a sequel but you'll still understand what's going on even if you don't read the other parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-14 13:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19274572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adobe_beforeffects/pseuds/adobe_beforeffects
Summary: All things must come to an end. At least, that’s what William always told him.Michael’s starting to doubt it.





	Sincerely, Michael

“I figured you would show up here,” Michael whispers. The animatronic, which had just been moving, is now lying motionless against the wall. If it hadn’t just come to life a moment ago, it could have easily been mistaken for a lifeless corpse.

He feels like he should feel something - anger, frustration, grief, anything - in response to this, but there’s nothing but a dull sense of contempt. The rotting, moldy animatronic in front of him is a far cry from the once-imposing figure of his father.

He leans down to carry it into the pizzeria.

_“How fascinating.”_

Michael doesn’t allow himself to flinch as the animatronic jerkily raises a hand to his face, cusping him under the jaw. William turns his head to one side, than the other, inspecting him in what little light the alleyway has to offer.

“Michael. It’s been a long time.” There’s something almost genuine in his voice. Compassionate, even.

“Hello, father,” he greets quietly. William had looked at him like this once before, after he had shaved for the first time. He had complimented him, telling him what a handsome young man he was growing into. Michael had taken it as a straightforward sign of approval back then, but now he wasn’t so sure. Perhaps his father had just been pleased that he was starting to look so much like him. Perhaps he had always intended him to take the blame.

William tightens his grip, his eyes gleaming.

“Tell me, do you still feel pain?"

It hurt. It wasn’t even surprising, really, but he had been so hopeful, so desperate that his father would give him even an ounce of sympathy once he saw what had happened to him. Instead, he was looking at him the same way a scientist would look at a rat they were experimenting on.

Michael jerks away from this animatronic’s grasp, immediately stifling the emotion. He wasn’t going to show any weakness, not to his father. “Do you?”

William laughs, a deep, raspy sound. “Come now, Michael. Don’t be like that.” He says it calmly, but there’s a hard edge to his voice. Michael had always done whatever he was told - perfectly obedient at all times. William clearly wasn’t happy about this sudden act of defiance.

Michael had spent weeks upon weeks figuring out what to say when he found his father, but now that he had, they all seemed so trivial. He takes a step forward, meeting the animatronic’s eyes. “I did what you asked. I did everything as I was supposed to, and I freed her. But I died.” He leans forward, voice distorting in anger. _“You killed me.”_

"Oh, Michael, Michael, Michael. I didn’t force you do anything, now did I? I merely asked you for a favor. It’s your own fault if you couldn’t make it out in one piece.” William puts a hand on the back of his neck, tightening his grip, fingers digging into his rotting flesh.

He wants to argue, to attack, to fight back against the words. But instead he looks away, hiding those emotions. Because as much as he hated to admit it... his father was right.

“I’m glad you understand.” William runs the matted hand of the suit down Michael’s back soothingly, then sits back down on the pavement in the same position that he had been found in. “Now, why don’t we go inside?”

“All right. But before we do... tell me one thing. Please.”Michael dares himself to meet his father’s eyes again.  _“Why am I still alive?”_

He waits for a response, but the animatronic doesn’t move. After a few minutes it becomes increasingly obvious that he wasn’t going to get an answer to his question.

He sighs, picks up the corpse, and carries it into his pizzeria.

* * *

 “Am I dead?” is the first thing he can think to say.

“You won’t die,” Elizabeth chastises, as if that were obvious and he should have known it already. She sits a few chairs down from him, scribbling on the back of a paper place mat. He looks around, trying to get his bearings.

The room looks like a stripped-back version of the dining room at Circus Baby’s, back when it was above ground. Colorful red and yellow tiles line the floors, and balloons drift up against the ceiling. The actual dining area had had dozens of long tables, but now it only has one - the one they’re already seated at. The room is bare otherwise, save for an ice-cream machine with an “out of order” sign tacked to it on the far wall.

“That can’t be right.” He can vividly remember the sensation of getting hit with the scooper, the sharp blade cutting into him, then a ripping, tearing sensation. There had been so much blood-

He runs his hand under his shirt. The skin there is smooth, unbroken. And yet there’s still the sensation of something pulling him apart-

“You’re not listening to me!” Michael jolts back to reality as Elizabeth pouts, crossing her arms as she stands on a chair. She looked just as he remembered - an adorable child with a round face and a wild headful of wavy blonde hair. Unlike him, she had been lucky enough to take after her mother.

“All right. Where are we?” he asks, realizing his previous questions clearly weren’t going to get him anywhere. Elizabeth plops back down into the chair.

“Dunno.” Very helpful.

Micheal looks around the room one more time, and realizes with a rising sense of panic that there are no doors.

“Hey!” Elizabeth leans forward in her chair, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Do you think you can fix the ice-cream maker?”

* * *

“Hello, Liz.”

Baby sits upright, face plates shifting as she turns to look at him. She looked terrible - large parts of her face were worn down and missing, and the various sections of her body seemed mismatched, as if they had been cobbled together from separate parts. He eyes the gigantic claw on her arm wearily.  _Where did she get that?_

”Hello, Michael. I haven’t seen you in a while,” she says softly. 

“Are the... _others_ still with you?”

“The others left. They were angry with me, I think.” She pauses, looking back towards the pizzeria. “I am ready to go inside now.”

At least she was honest. “I don’t know if I should,” he mutters, looking her over. That was a lie - he was told to gather everyone up. But he had also been told to keep up appearances. And it’s not exactly like he did want her in there, strictly speaking.

“Daddy is in there. I want to be with him,” she objects plaintively.

That wasn’t right. Elizabeth hated William, didn’t she? She had killed him because she had thought he was their father, after all. He reaches out mentally, back to the party room, but it’s still empty.

“Baby, where is Liz?” he asks with a growing sense of dread. Baby looks at him, then looks away.

“I used to hear her all the time,” she whispers. “But now I don’t hear her at all. What happened? I miss her.”

He wonders how much the dead forget. He wonders how much he’s forgotten. A roll of thunder sounds in the distance.

“Come on,” he mutters, looking up at the cloudy sky. “Let’s go inside.”

* * *

He was young - 6 or 7, maybe - lying on the sidewalk, clutching his scraped knee and crying. His bike lay beside him, one wheel still spinning.

“Come now. It’s just a little cut.” William seemed nonplussed at the wound, and in hindsight it wasn’t a big deal, but to a small child it seemed like a life-threatening injury. He had continued to cry, ignoring his father completely.

“Michael, I want to teach you something.” His father kneels down beside him on the sidewalk, placing a hand on his back. “Can you tell me what you’re feeling right now?”

“H-hurts,” he had sobbed, which probably wasn’t the answer his father was looking for. Never the less, he took it.

“That’s right. Now, here’s a little secret: pain is temporary, Michael. In fact, all emotions are. Think about those feelings, and take a deep breath.”

He did as he was told.

“Now, breathe out, and let all of those emotions go away. Like you’re changing the channel on the TV.”

Michael exhaled, trying to imagine those feelings disappearing. It didn’t quite seem to work, but his leg did hurt less now, and he was able to calm his sobbing down into a few quiet tears.

For the first time in a long time, his father had smiled.

He wanted to see him smile more.

* * *

Michael nudges the pile of wires with his foot experimentally. Despite the fact that there was a mask on top of the mess, it hard to believe this was an animatronic - it was completely disassembled, just a pile of wires and electronics with a few eyes scattered about. His skin crawls as he thinks about how this thing had once been inside of him.

He nudges it again, slightly harder this time, but there’s still no response. Perhaps it wouldn’t move at all until he dragged it into the pizzeria. That had been the case with that black bear he had found last week, after all. He leans down to pick it up.

“L-L-LOOK, IT’S OUR OLD FRIEND! HELLO AGAIN!” The animatronic suddenly rises up into a vaguely humanoid shape and slams him into the alley wall, hard. “WE HEARD THERE WAS A PARTY GOING ON!”

The sudden impact doesn’t hurt like it should, and it takes Michael a moment to realize why - the hollow skin underneath the animatronic’s hand had simply collapsed with the impact, rather than staying firm. It felt weird, but at least he wasn’t in pain.

He quietly takes the panicked feeling he’s experiencing and tucks it away, repressing it. He had gotten better at dissociating himself from his feelings over the years, and his father had rewarded him with some rarely-seen attention and praise. It wasn’t until he died that he understood why - repressing his emotions made him able to remain calm in the high-risk situations his father loved putting him in. At least now he could use that skill to his advantage.

“Yes, there is a party. Why don’t we go inside and enjoy it?” he replies politely, trying to push the animatronic’s hand away from him. The misshapen pile of wires tilts its head.

“Not so fast, kiddo! Today is our lucky day! We were hoping to bump into you, but we didn’t know you’d show up here!” That was Funtime Foxy’s voice - less screechy, but somehow still as loud as Freddy’s.

“Looking for me?”

“We can’t move around outside anymore, even at night. Our shape looks too different. People can see it in the moonlight.” That was Ballora’s voice, smooth and thankfully less ear-piercingly loud. “We need to hide in something that has a more... human silhouette.”

“SEE, WE NEVER WANTED TO LEAVE YOU!” They press him into the wall harder, moving closer to his face. “BABY’S WAS BEING BOSSY, SO WE GOT RID OF HER! SO NOW WE CAN BE TOGETHER, F-F-FOREVER!”

_Stay calm._ “That doesn’t make any sense. Don’t you get it?” That was a rhetorical question - it was obvious the amalgamation was insane, panicked and desperate. They were far beyond listening to reason.

He holds out his hand anyway, pulling back his sleeve to reveal blueish-purple skin that’s turning black around the palm. It had been a fleshy, faded blue a few weeks ago. “I’m rotting away, bit by bit. Soon... soon there won’t be anything left of me.” It was terrifying to admit that out loud.

“C-C’MON, DON’T BE A PARTY POOPER!” The animatronic unexpectedly slides its free hand under his shirt and into the gaping hole in his torso, pulling Michael’s hollow arm over its own like a sleeve. He involuntary cries out in pain at the sensation of jagged metal scratching the inside of his skin. The amalgamation rises upwards, squaring its head with his torso. “IT’LL ONLY HURT FOR A MOMENT!”

“Wait! Wait.” He forces himself to stop struggling, instead focusing on making his voice sound enthusiastic. “What if... we make this fun?”

“LIKE A PARTY GAME?” The creature doesn’t relax its grip, but it does at least remove its hand from inside of him. Michael flexes the hand it had been in experimentally.

“Yes, _exactly._ We’ll go inside to play. I’ll be sitting in an office, trying to keep you out. If you manage to get in, you win.” It’s an absolutely horrible deal - he weighs next to nothing, and he was defenseless while pinned against the wall like this. There was nothing stopping the animatronic from crawling up inside of him right now, and he could only pray to God that the animatronic’s party-based AI would make the idea of a game seem more appealing than the obvious solution.

“Why, that sounds like a grand time! Winner takes all!” Funtime Foxy’s voice booms. They finally pull back their hand, allowing Michael to drop to the ground. He pulls himself up bonelessly, his body straightening itself out as he does so. 

“WE’LL MEET YOU INSIDE!” Freddy screeches, skittering around the corner of the nearest building at speeds he didn’t think a half-put-together animatronic could manage. Michael slumps over a nearby trashcan, taking a moment to recompose himself.

_I’m not getting paid enough for this,_ he decides.

* * *

Michael kneels back, surveying his work.

There was no sense of time in this place, but he’s fairly certain he’s been working on fixing the machine for quite a while now. Unfortunately, he had little progress to show for his work - despite him having cleaned the inside of the thing top to bottom and screwing in a few loose bolts, it still didn’t want to dispense anything.

_Father would know how to fix this,_  he surmised. While William had taught him the basics of robotics and engineering, he hadn’t taken to it as well as he suspected his father had wanted him to. He knew the basics, but nothing this complex.

He gives up for the moment, wiping his sticky hands on his jeans as he rises to his feet and moves to the table. He slumps back in one of the chairs, wiping sweat from his forehead.

“Sorry, Liz. No ice cream today,” he announces to no one. Unlike him, Elizabeth had the habit of fading in and out of the room at random. It had scared him initially, but she seemed unconcerned with the whole thing. There were, however, strange semi-transparent copies of her that flitted in and out of the room, fading in and out of sight. Just one of the many weird things in this place.

He abruptly gets kicked in the shin.

“This is all your fault!” Elizabeth bawls, suddenly having reappeared in the room. Michael barely restrains himself from swearing as he clutches his throbbing ankle.

“Okay, first of all, no kicking,” he scolds. He picks her up and sets her on a chair so that they’re eye level with each other. “Secondly, I know you’re upset about the ice-cream, but that doesn’t mean-”

“No!” she shrieks, shaking her head.  Even when throwing a temper tantrum she was still kind of adorable. “We can’t use use you anymore, and now we’ll have to hide again, a-and everyone _h-h-hates me!_ ” She throws her face into his chest, sobbing at full force.

“All right, all right. Calm down,” he soothes with a sigh, smoothing her hair with his hand. “It’ll be fine.” In reality he had no idea what she was talking about, but her screaming and crying wasn’t going to help anyone.

Elizabeth’s crying gradually slows to a few choked sobs as Michael looks around the room. _She’s right,_ he realizes. He can’t place it, but there’s a general sense of unease hanging around the place like a fog.  _Something is wrong._

His sister slowly pulls away from Michael’s very wet shirt, wiping her red face with her sleeve. “We’re leaving now,” she mumbles.

“Leaving? Liz, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He looks around the room again, wiping sweat from his brow. Nothing had changed, but the sudden sense of unease was unbearable. He wants to get up and leave, but where would he go to?

He turns his attention back to Elizabeth, who’s opening a door on the far wall.

“Wait-” He starts to get up to follow, but the door vanishes into thin air as she closes it behind her. He sits back down and rests his head in his hands, now both paranoid and confused.

One thing he had become increasingly sure of over time is that this place, whatever it was, wasn’t real. There was somewhere else that he could feel, like he was being drawn to it. And if he concentrated enough... he could start to be there, instead. Most of those moments had been fleeting, Elizabeth quickly distracting him and drawing his attention back to the pizzeria, but not all. Once he had managed to see himself in his bathroom mirror, staring with eyes that weren’t his. After that, he stopped trying to connect anymore.

He reaches out mentally, trying to hone in on the uneasy feeling. There was... something moving. Himself? No - something else was moving around inside of him, wreathing and twisting. He had felt sensations like this before, but they were brief, fleeting. Nothing as awful as this. He lies still on the table, completely paralyzed. _Get out get out get-_

He’s outside, in the sun. The crawling sensation moves up into his chest and forces his head back as a wirey arm slides out from his mouth, then a torso. He falls forward and the rest of the animatronic follows suit, splitting his rotten jaw wide open as they pull out of his hollow form, as smoothly as someone would pull off a dirty hoodie after a long day of work. Michael collapses, unable to support himself, as the pizzeria fades away in his mind. He lies there in shock, underneath the warm sun.

_You won’t die._

* * *

Michael isn’t 100% sure of the time, but it had to be late, maybe the middle of the night. 8 out of 11 tasks completed. Four animatronics. Printer making an obnoxious amount of noise.

The printer shuts down and he takes a moment to listen. Molten Freddy’s laughter sounds down the right vent. Wonderful. Just what he needed. He waits another moment, listening to the animatronic skitter away, then orders more napkins. Monitor off, listen. The room felt weirdly warm, even for a standard summer night.

“Where are you?” Baby asks from somewhere too close for comfort. _Why don’t you all just come in here?,_ Michael thinks to himself, groaning. _We’ll make a party out of tearing me apart._ He couldn’t even turn the ventilation on, not with this many animatronics close by.

“Helpy, you want to unclog the toilets for me?” No response. Why did he think there would be? He really was starting to lose his mind. He takes a moment to move the audio lure closer to the black bear, then sets his head on the desk for a moment, suddenly feeling dizzy and numb...

Michael wakes up in a panic.

The temperature had dropped a few degrees, from 120 to 115. How long was he out? He looks around - no animatronics in the office, yet. The ventilation is immediately turned on, bringing a surge of relief at the feeling of the cool air. It was strange - he usually didn’t feel temperature much anymore. In fact, he shouldn’t be able to pass out, considering he couldn’t even sleep.

Maybe he had just imagined it - he had only passed out once before after drinking too much at a party as a teen, and all that had taught him was not to ever do that again. It’s not exactly like he was familiar with the sensation. He could be mistaken.

Springtrap’s voice comes from one side, chastising him, while Baby’s voice comes from the other. He sits there, not daring to move. They were probably all outside of the door right now.

Morbidly, he ponders which animatronic would be the worst to be caught by. Perhaps the black bear would be the least painful, considering he wasn’t even sure what it would do to him if it did catch him. And he could probably retreat back to the pizzeria if Molten Freddy broke in.

_No,_ he decides, finishing off the last task and sprinting out of the room before any of the animatronics had a chance to enter. The worst would certainly be his father - not for any technical reason, but because he simply didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of winning.

* * *

“Kids like balloons, right?” Michael asks the little figurine on his monitor. The toy of course doesn’t respond, but Michael pretends that he’s nodding enthusiastically. ”Right. One balloon barrel, then. Maybe an arcade game, too.” He circles the Fruity Maze console in red pen along with the barrel.

He looks over at the _Smiles and Servos Inc._ catalogue. “And I suppose we’ll need more animatronics. I know, I know, I hate them too. But we’re supposed to be running an establishment here. We can’t draw in customers without some sort of show.” He doesn’t know why they were pretending to run a pizzeria exactly, but he was positive the salvaged animatronics had something to do with it. Best to keep up appearances.

He had put an animatronic on the stage earlier, a cheerful-looking frog, and so far it had behaved like it was supposed to. Still, it did look rather cheap. Maybe a more expensive animatronic would be better. Then again... he eyes the risk factor cautiously before sighing and circling Rockstar Freddy. “Can’t be any worse than the others, I suppose.”

“Michael?”

He swears he can feel his blood run cold at the sound of the voice, even though he had bled out a long time ago. He turns around to find Henry standing in the doorway. _Shit._ He had been so cautious to hide away in the shadows over the last three years, and yet here he was, sitting in a brightly-lit office in the middle of the day in plain sight, all because he forgot to lock the stupid door.

And yet... Henry doesn’t look surprised. Mildly curious, at best. Michael’s shoulders slowly drop in defeat. “You already knew,” he whispers.

“I worked with your father for years, Michael. Hiding your accent isn’t going to stop me from hearing his voice. And,” he adds, frowning, “the dozens of bottles of cologne you’ve dumped over yourself aren’t doing much to hide the smell.”

“Right,” he mumbles, looking away, his initial panic dying down. Henry had called him by his real name during the phone interview - of course he already knew. If he had wanted to do something to him, he would’ve already done it.

Henry nods at his desk. “Mind if I sit down?”

“No, of course not,” Michael says, before realizing there are no other chairs. Henry seems unbothered by this, simply walking over to the pile of recent shipments and dragging a large box over to the desk to sit on. He looks Michael over with a mild look of interest. “You don’t have to answer, but I have to ask. How did you end up like that?”

Michael looks down at his rotting fingers, twining them together. “You know my sister, Elizabeth, right?” It was a rhetorical question - Henry had been over at their house dozens of times back in the day, though they hadn’t talked before except for brief greetings. “She was trapped. I helped her escape. But she needed to look human.” It’s vague as hell, but Henry merely nods instead of asking for clarification.

Something touches his back, and he startles at the sensation before realizing it was merely Henry, who had reached over and placed a hand on him reassuringly. He hadn’t been touched by another human being since he had died. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“I’m sorry my father killed your family,” he murmurs, unable to bring himself to meet the other man’s eyes. He wasn’t sure why he was apologizing on his father’s behalf, other than the fact that William himself certainly wasn’t going to.

They sit in silence for a moment.

“I’m not like him,” Michael blurts out of nowhere. He already regrets telling someone who’s almost a complete stranger that, but now that he’s said it he can’t take it back. “I mean, I’m trying not to be. I’m trying to be better. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone about the murders. Maybe if I had, less people would have-”

“Michael, it’s okay.” Henry places a hand on his shoulder, his usually stern voice carrying a note of sympathy. “The very fact that you’re helping me now proves you’re better than William. Thank you for being so brave.” He pauses. “Any father would be proud to have you as a son.”

William almost never gave them compliments, let alone praise. Any form of attention was something you had to earn in the Afton household, usually by doing whatever their father told them. His own father had certainly never sad he was proud of him.

Michael almost wants to cry, but he can’t, so he settles for a shaky “thank you”. Henry nods with a smile and removes his hand, folding it in his lap. He straightens up in the chair, suddenly seeming all the more stern again.

“I came here to warn you that we’re finally nearing the end. There’s going to be a... ‘party’ tomorrow,” he whispers, putting far too much emphasis on the word “party”.  “I’m sorry it’s taken this long, but I’ve experienced problems in the past trying this that I can’t have repeated. But rest assured - tomorrow night will be the day you can prove your worth as a true... _entrepreneur._ ”

Michael stares at him, trying to process what he was saying. There was an end? He was convinced that this would simply go on forever, a horrible endless cycle. “How?”

“I can’t tell you. I can’t have anyone... overhearing.” Henry glances towards the vent, as if expecting an animatronic to burst into the room at any second. He leans in close, lowering his voice to a barely-audible whisper. “But rest assured, I have an escape route planned for you. You’ll know when it starts; go to the main hall and pull the cover off the vent there. It’ll look like it’s locked, but it won’t be. Crawl through, and you’ll be free.”

_Out._ Michael stares at him quietly, running the words through his head. Henry seems to follow his train of thought.

“Of course, if you’d rather stay... I won’t stop you.”

Michael remains quiet, studying the blackened area of his hand. How long would he have until he rotted away completely?

“If I... stay... you’ll help me too, right?” He doesn’t go into more detail, but Henry seems to understand.

“Everyone will finally be put to rest tomorrow. That includes you, if you wish.”

It feels too good to be true. This whole time, he had been terrified at the idea of living like this forever. Now, by pure chance, there was someone offering to give him an out.

It wasn’t even a question in his mind.

“I want to stay,” he says definitively. Henry nods.

“I understand. The passageway will be left open, in case you change your mind. Thank you for your service.” He stands up and walks towards the door.

“Wait!” Henry stops and looks back at him and Michael pauses, trying to figure out how to word his question in a way that would be convincing.

“You... you know something about what’s happening, don’t you? About me.” Henry rests a hand on the door frame while Michael fixes his gaze on Helpy. “I don’t... I don’t know why I’m here. I died. I’m supposed to be dead. Why aren’t I? If it’s something I did, or...” He trails off, looking back at Henry. “Please, if you know anything, tell me. I want to understand. Before...”

Henry looks at his hand, still on the door frame, and stays that way for a while before finally sighing. He walks back to the desk, picks up one of the catalogues, and circles something in red pen, setting it down cover-side up.

“Order that. I’ll fill it with a few files that should help to explain. You’ll be able to access them through your monitor. Do not tell a single other soul what’s contained in those documents or I’ll have to take drastic measures.” The hard edge to his voice suggested he was not joking.

“Yes! Yes, of course. Thank you,” he adds, quickly recomposing himself. Henry gets back up and walks out of the office and Michael immediately flips over the magazine to see what he had circled.

_What the hell is an “Egg Baby”?_

* * *

An “Egg Baby”, as it turns out, was an abomination against God.

Michael had thrown a sheet over it so it wouldn’t have to look at the weird plastic... _thing._ Still, the rest of the pizzeria was looking great, and, more importantly, was safe. Even the new Rockstar animatronic was behaving itself, even if kept demanding coins from him. His goal had been to make a better pizzeria than his father, and he was pretty convinced he had succeeded.

He works on completing a few tasks first, before the animatronics got too active, but he can hardly focus on buying paper plates. After William had refused to answer him in the alley, he had assumed that he would never get the answers he was looking for. And yet here they were, pre-loaded onto his monitor like a gift.

He finishes ordering the supplies, braces himself, and reboots the system.

“ _It's only now that I understand the depth of the depravity of this...creature - this monster that I unwillingly helped to create...”_

Henry’s voice. He keeps his gaze on the monitor, watching as blueprints pop up.

The first one is fairly uninteresting - a diagram of the little robotic things he had seen roaming the pizzeria on occasion. Apparently, they were meant to emulate children. No wonder all the animatronics were so interested in coming in here.

The second one shows a blueprint for the black bear, which he had really only brought inside because one of the paragraphs in his initial contract had requested it. He didn’t know much about the Puppet itself, just that it was possessed by one of his father’s first victims and that it was completely terrifying. No wonder it was trying to kill him, considering he looked more like William right now than William did.

Michael takes a moment to lure Baby away with an audio clip before returning his attention to the monitor. Molten Freddy. He only bothers to skim this one. He was supposed to bring him in because he had the most “remnant”, whatever that meant.

He sits back in his chair, wondering if this was all pointless. Nothing here had anything to due with why he was still alive.

The final blueprint flashes up on the screen, and he sits back up.

The Scooper - or the S.C.U.P., as the blueprint insisted. On the blueprint it looks so small, like a child’s toy, but the gaping hole in his torso suggested otherwise.

He reads the blueprint, one, twice, three times, listening to Henry talk about the original animatronics’ possession. The monitor clicks off, and he sits there in silence, the only other noise coming from the monsters moving about the halls. 

Michael forces himself to think back to when he had died. He usually avoided the memory, but now he concentrates, thinking, trying to feel past the pain. The Scooper was sharpened at the flat end, like a blade. It had cut into his torso, and... held there, just for a split second, before moving up. That must have been when he had been injected.

So many things suddenly make sense. It had happened to Elizabeth, too. His father probably had been using it from the beginning - that would be how he survived the first springlock incident, back in the original diner. Remnant, collected from five dead kids and injected into him, keeping him here the same way they had all stayed over the years. The thought makes him feel ill, despite the fact that he no longer had a stomach. _I’m alive because those kids are dead._

He leans back and starts to laugh.

It’s an awful, frantic noise, a strange combination of pure grief, anger, disgust and relief. He was more than capable of calming himself down, but right now he didn’t want to. _I’ve finally lost my damn mind,_ he reasons, slumping forward in the chair. _They’ll have to take me away and dissect me to figure out what’s wrong._

His laughter finally slows, wilting away into a strangled gasping, crying noise. He finally forces himself to calm down, shoving all of the hatred and grief away for now. Someone is moving in the left vent, probably his father. He grabs the flashlight, but instead of shining it from a distance like he usually did, he instead slams his hands down on the edge of the vent.

“This whole time! This whole time, I thought _I_  had done something wrong. That I was broken, that I was being punished for not telling anyone about what you did!” He leans forward into the darkness, just able to make out the worn-down rabbit animatronic at the other end. He steadies himself. “But it was never me. I didn’t do anything to deserve this. It was _you._  It’s always been you. You wanted me to think it was my fault, and that’s why you wouldn’t tell me anything, isn’t it?”

Springtrap suddenly starts crawling forward at a much quicker pace, and for a maddening second he wants to let him come into the office. It was not a fight he’d win, but he wanted to fight regardless, to make him feel pain the same way he did. Instead, he merely lifts the flashlight, turning it on.

William studies him for a moment, as if about to speak. Finally he starts crawling backwards as his system resets.

“I have to thank you, though. Forcing me to not show emotion is the only reason I haven’t lost my mind. I bet you didn’t consider that, didn’t you, you bastard?” He retreats back to the desk, turning on the monitor to print some posters.

He had to make it through tonight so he could die tomorrow.

* * *

Tonight would be the last night he was alive, if everything went right. That was a strange thought.

Michael lies on his couch, flipping through TV channels. Ever since the Immortal and the Restless had been cancelled, he hadn’t found anything to keep his interest. There was nothing else that even remotely captured the pure passion and drama of that show.

He pauses over a listing for “Zombies vs Zombies IV: The Zombie-ing”. Might be fun. He used to love cheesy horror movies back in the day.

The zombies are currently attacking people, ripping them limb from limb in an over-the-top gory fashion. He holds up his own rotting hand, comparing it to the makeup artist’s interpretation. _These are terrible special effects,_ he decides.

One of the corpses drags itself along, sneaking up behind someone who was probably a main character. _Maybe I could go into the movie business if the whole “dying” thing doesn’t work out,_ he thinks dryly to himself. _I could make a good zombie._ He watches as another character sneaks up behind the zombie, loping it’s head off with a machete. _Then again, maybe not._

He watches idly for a while with a growing sense of discomfort as people run about, decapitating the corpses without a second thought. Those used to be people too. Didn’t anyone care?

The main characters talk about setting fire to the zombies’ base and Michael shuts off the TV, curling up on the couch.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to feel a sort of “phantom pain” in his torso. Usually it would fade away if he ignored it, but it had been persistent and vivid ever since last night. His mind drifts back to the files.

There were pieces from the dead children in him. They weren’t in any pain because of him, were they? Even though his father did most of the work, he can’t help but feel guilty. Maybe he could have saved them if he had told someone about that first murder. Damn. It always came back to that, didn’t it?

He thinks back William. He had never asked to be born, let alone to a serial killer. Why did they all have to suffer so much just because of who their father was? The fact that they looked and almost sounded the same disgusted him. Perhaps that was the one benefit of dying - at least he no longer had to live with having his face.

The pain seems to have gotten worse - lying in bed and moping clearly isn’t helping anything. He quietly swings his legs off of the couch and goes outside. Maybe the fresh air would help.

He lies down on the roof of his car - he had inherited it from William, when he had bought a new one - and stares up at the sky. It was a new moon tonight, the perfect time to be outside without anyone noticing him. The stars spill across the sky, millions upon millions. It was gorgeous.

He wonders idly if he’ll ever get to see them again.

He could try praying. Their family used to go church together, on occasion, but those trips had gradually ceased over time. Right now he was convinced that there either wasn’t a God, or that He hated him. Then again, maybe it would help his cause a little, at least show that he was trying to be repentant. But did he deserve to be saved in the first place?

Michael rolls over on his stomach and does a quick prayer, which amounts to more “please send my father to Hell” than “please save my soul”. Better than nothing, at least.

People usually wrote a will before they died, didn’t they? Maybe he should donate something to charity. Then again, he didn’t have much - he had gotten rid of everything that reminded him of his father, and sold off everything else to keep paying for utilities.

No, he didn’t have anything to pass on. But he did have one final request.

Michael finds a sheet of legal paper inside and smooths it out. He could write an entire novel about what’s happened, but he only writes one sentence. He signs it and writes today’s date, just to make it official, and folds it in thirds. It’s placed onto his nightstand along with the photo he had taken from the album a while ago, the nice one of them as a family before everything went to hell. Hopefully whoever ended up cleaning the place out would see it.

It reads:

_I will be gone tomorrow. Please don’t place my tombstone next to my father’s._

_Sincerely, Michael_

* * *

Michael listens to Baby talk over the speakers, standing up from his chair. He certainly hoped this was going to plan - yes, there were no children in the pizzeria for anyone to kill, but on other other hand, she would probably come straight for him once she figured that out. Not to mention their father...

Henry’s voice clicks on from the speaker, and he slumps back down into the chair in relief.

“So this is it,” he murmurs, pretending Helpy was patting his arm sympathetically. He leans back in the chair, flipping on the fans to cool the room, which seemed abnormally hot.

“And to you, my brave volunteer...”

He feels a stab of both sadness and joy. Years of struggling just to get his father’s approval, and now someone who was almost a complete stranger was heaping compliments onto him.It was times like now that he wishes he could still cry.

“I am remaining as well. I am nearby.”

Somehow, he isn’t surprised. Henry had understood him a bit too well during their earlier talk - and while the thought of him staying should have made him upset, it instead comes as a comfort. He wouldn’t be dying alone with these monsters.

Michael turns his attention back to the temperature readout on the monitor. Something was wrong. Despite the fans going at full blast, the temperature was rising rapidly. 99, 100, 101, 102...  Henry had said something about trying once before, now that he was thinking about it. The Fazbear’s Fright fire...

Shit. He had lit the building on fire. Michael glances at the main hall. Henry had said he was leaving the escape route open, didn’t he? It wouldn’t be too late to run...

No. One of the blueprints had said something about heat neutralizing the remnant - Henry knew what he was doing. He had even passed out earlier, when it had gotten too hot. This was the only way.

“This isn’t fair,” he laments to Helpy, pretending the little doll was listening in sympathy. Most people who died in fires perished of smoke inhalation before the flames ever reached them - he would not be that lucky. He had already died once, brutally and painfully. Why did he have to go through that again?

Someone is screaming in agony from the other side of the pizzeria. He comforts himself with the assumption that it’s his father.

“Be still, and give up your spirits.”

Michael turns off the fan and lays his head down on the desk, drawing Helpy close to his chest. He would not try to escape; he would not struggle; he would not go down screaming like the monsters trapped in the halls.

He jumps as a burning support beam from the ceiling comes crashing down, landing dangerously close to the desk. Sparks and embers jump from the wood as it hits the ground, landing on his clothes and skin. He braces himself for the pain, but it never comes. In a way, it almost felt soothing - a pleasant warm sensation, like submerging yourself in a nice bath after a long day. Michael lays his head back down on the desk and covers his eyes, feeling numb.

“This ends for all of us.”

The temperature reaches 178, 179, 180, and then he’s gone.

* * *

He lifts his head slowly, cautiously, halfway expecting everything to be on fire still. But it’s just the pizzeria, looking the same as it always did.

“Is that really it?” Michael asks no one, as the room is still empty. He tries to reach out to the real world again, but there’s nothing. A massive sense of relief washes over him, and he smiles, laying his head back down. It was finally over.

There’s something in his hand. He unfolds his fingers slowly, revealing Helpy’s grinning face. “Hey there, little guy. You decided to come with me, huh?” The little bear gives him a pretend enthusiastic nod, and Michael sets him back down on the table, looking around the area. Same boring room as always. Except...

The “out of order” sign was gone from the ice cream machine. There’s a little dollop of vanilla, Elizabeth’s favorite, under one of the dispensers.

He just breaks down.

Michael buries his head, sobbing uncontrollably, not even even trying to suppress his emotions. Maybe it was the ice cream, maybe it was the fire, maybe it was simply dying, but all of a sudden he’s weeping harder than he has in a long time. He cries for Elizabeth, and the other children, and Henry, and all of the other people that had suffered because of his father. But mostly he cries for himself, himself and his short, tragic existence. The pain and grief wash over him, wave after wave, until his throat is sore and there are no tears left.

He wipes his wet face with an equally wet shirt sleeve, hugging himself until his sobbing slowly quiets down into normal breathing. In a strange way, he felt better. He had been through a lot - the least he deserved was to grieve.

He doesn’t know what will happen if he leaves. Henry had seemed confident that he would be okay, but then again, Henry didn’t know him very well. _If I’m going to Hell, at least I can bring William with me,_ he reasons. That was a comforting thought.

He closes his eyes and allows himself to slip away, and the pizzeria is once again empty.

* * *

“Michael, would you mind setting up?” Henry asks, handing him a picnic basket and nodding to one of the nearby wooden tables. He agrees, walking over to the spot and removing a checkered blanket from the basket.

“Mikey!” Elizabeth suddenly pops out from under the table, holding a rather crude drawing of... something. “Look!”

“Hey, that’s really good,” Michael announces, squatting down and pretending to inspect her work. “Why don’t you go show Charlie?”

“Okay!” Elizabeth darts off to join the brunette, who is playing with a rather mangled-looking fox toy. Michael smiles at her antics, turning his attention out toward the water, which sparkles in the sunlight, framing the mountains in the distance perfectly. The sun is warm, the grass is vivid and green, and there’s just enough of a breeze.

And for once, he’s glad to be alive.


End file.
